Never Again Home
by Maddie
Summary: When Tom Paris tries to go home after his court-martial over the incident at Caldik Prime, he's not prepared for who, or what, greets him.


This story was first published in the zine _We Will Always Have Paris_.

NEVER AGAIN HOME

Dappled sunlight playing across his path tickled the shaded lane, hinting at the brilliant sunshine waiting on the edge of the tree lined walkway. Though only mid morning he could feel the heat and humidity building in the air around him. It would have been easier and quicker to rent land transport, but he had chosen to walk from his hotel room in the old section of town. The squalid sector his father had once called it, but he had always considered it an interesting, challenging place, particularly when he grew old enough to sample its peculiar temptations. And sample he had, as much out of curiosity as in defiance of his fathers wishes. But none of that mattered now. Very little did. As each long stride brought him closer to his destination, familiar sights and landmarks brought memories rushing back. Some of the memories were pleasant ones, but far too many were bitter. So bitter he found himself wondering why he had chosen to put him self through the upcoming confrontation. He wasn't going to fool himself. It would be a confrontation. Perhaps that was why he had chosen to walk, and delay the inevitable as long as possible.

Rounding the last bend in the narrow road, he found his steps slowing as he approached the tall, white, iron gate at the end of the hardtop. Some twisted part of his brain thought it looked like a prison gate. In many ways, it had been. Taking a deep breath, making sure he was outwardly calm, he stepped into range of the security sensors. "State your name," the mechanized voice asked coldly. "Paris, Thomas." The answer was automatic, as it had always been.

"Please face the viewer for retinal scan."

Paris turned toward the viewer, waited the second necessary for the machine to verify his identity, then reached for the latch on the gate as the computer relayed its decision.

"Access denied."

"What?" Paris, stared at the source of the bodiless voice and felt the old resentment begin to rise.

"What do you mean, access denied."

"Access denied."

Anger burned suddenly hot, and Paris faced the monitor in frustration. "Why?"

"There is no record in the security database for Paris, Thomas."

A sharp tang of hurt colored his anger. "You old bastard," Paris said, half to himself. "If that's the way your going to play it, then fine. I no longer exist. So I don't have to beg."

Turning abruptly, Paris stalked away from the gate. He wasn't going to give his father the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he'd been hurt. It was a simple thing, removing him from the security database, but the action spoke volumes. He was no longer part of this family. This was no longer home. Not that he had spent much time feeling at home here. He had been willing to make one last effort to appease his family, to explain, in own words, not in court­martial legalize, what had happened at Caldik Prime, but he wasn't going to be given that chance. _Fine_, he thought. _That's the end of it_. But, if it was the end of it, why did it feel so wrong? During most of his youth he had wanted nothing more than to be cut loose of his father's leash, and now that had happened. _Don't think about it,_ he told himself, lengthening his stride to put as much distance between himself and his humiliation as possible.

"Tom!"

Paris heard the voice behind him, and the running footsteps, but he did not turn. There was no need to. It was over, the ties cut, the obligation ended.

"Tommy, please, wait."

Then a firm hand clasped his elbow, pulled and spun him around to a stop. Standing in front of him was a familiar figure, familiar, yet different.

"You can't just run like that, Tommy, not without talking to us first. You owe your mother at least that much."

Paris would have laughed, should have kept walking, but Sarrel always had the knack for making him feel incredibly guilty. She hadn't lost the knack. Hadn't lost much at all, but had gained a hell of a lot. "Sarrel?" he asked tentatively, confirming his suspicions. The slender, dark haired woman nodded once.

"The same."

"No," Paris said, taking a second appreciative look. "Not the same. Good god, Sarrel, you've grown."

Sarrel placed both hands on her hips. "It tends to happen, Tommy boy. Whether we like it or not." The tone in her voice didn't quite match the sarcasm of her words.

"I didn't mean that in a bad way."

"Yeah, I know, and your reputation has proceeded you," Sarrel's innocent teasing brought the anger and hurt crashing back.

"Father has made that painfully clear." Paris started to turn and continue on his way, but Sarrel stopped him.

"That's not what I meant, Tom. Please, don't go yet."

"I have to. Got a transport to catch."

He started once more down the path leading away from his childhood home. Instead of stopping him, Sarrel fell into step beside him, easily matching his stride. She had always been at least a head shorter than him, she still was, but she had no trouble keeping up with him. Over the years she had developed a ground eating stride of her own. Paris risked a sidelong glance at his childhood companion. Gawd, she'd been a flat chested, tom­boy last time he had seen her, hanging upside down from a tree branch, by her knees, waving frantically as he'd shipped off to the Academy. Now, well, she sure wasn't flat chested, in fact, she was damned good looking, though her nose was a bit to pudgy and her eyes a bit too wide to be considered drop dead gorgeous. While he had struggled to make his place in Starfleet, she had followed her own path, forging the beginning of a stellar career in exobotany. Though he'd been aware of her early success, he hadn't seen her since they'd parted, and the messages she had sent hadn't begun to do her looks justice.

"Keep your mind out of the gutter, Paris." Sarrel said sharply.

Paris felt the blush rising to his cheeks.

"I always could read you like a book, Tommy. I've gotten older, not dumber. Besides, you didn't come here to gape me."

"How would you know why I came." _When I don't really know myself_* he thought.

"Doesn't matter why you came. I just knew you would."

"And why are you here?" he asked.

"I came because I knew you would need me."

Paris laughed, a short derisive sound. Then realized too late how the laugh belittled her intent. "Why I came no longer seems matter," Paris said stiffly, never breaking his stride.

"It might matter to those who love you."

At those words, Paris did stop, turning to face his life long friend. "Yourself included?" Why he asked the question, he didn't know. He had never thought of Sarrel that way. Not until, just a few moments ago, when he realized she was no longer the child he remembered. Over the years, his mind had never allowed her to grow up, recalling only the little girl she had been because that was the person he had needed to remember. Though several years younger than himself, she had always been his companion, in every way. Informally adopted by his parents when her own died, she had gone everywhere the family did, to every outpost, space station, or ship where they could be accommodated, and when not there, then here, on Earth. They had played together, fought together, and, when he had felt completely alone, and at odds with his father, she had been the one who understood. She had held him when the pain of rejection left him in tears and aching for a human touch.

Sarrel had always been there, except for once - after Caldik Prime. That he had faced alone withstanding his father's wrath and disappointment without Sarrel to stand between them as a buffer, as she was trying to do now. But Caldik Prime had taught him more than one lesson. He never was, and never would be, what his father wanted him to be. He would never measure up to father's sense of perfection, and no one, not even Sarrel, could salve those wounds. The other thing he had learned was that he would never again call this place home. Shaking his head to clear away the memories, Paris turned once again and began to walk, more slowly this time. Sarrel still kept pace at his side.

"Where will you go?" she asked at last, breaking the companionable silence that still felt comfortable after all the time they'd been apart.

"Don't know for sure. I've landed a job on a freighter shipping out from Martian Colony Six in less that twelve hours."

"A job?"

Paris could hear the disappointment in his friends question.

"Yes," he said softly, suddenly not trusting his voice. Something about Sarrel's concern amplified his sense of failure as his father's rage never would. While Father's anger fed his resentment, Sarrel's concern nursed his own sense of loss. He didn't want to think of all the things that would never again be.

"Yes," he said again, more brusquely. "A job. One that will take me far away from here."

"Where?"

Paris didn't answer.

"Where, Tom? In case your mother asks."

"Right before..." Paris hesitated. _Right before I consciously destroyed any career I might ever have_, he thought. "Right before the accident", he managed to blurt out, "I heard they'd discovered a stable wormhole. Out in the Bajoran sector."

"Isn't that near the Cardassian front"

"Yes." _Right on it_, he thought.

"Why there?"

"Adventure?" Paris answered her question with his own. He really had no other answer. "I heard that wormhole leads to the Gamma Quadrant. Sounds to me like there is going to be lots of activity around that wormhole. Might be the right place for a good pilot to be."

"Damn good pilot," Sarrel said, pride tingeing her voice. Then he felt her arm slip around his waist, drawing him closer as she slowed his headlong rush to be away. "I'll miss you, Tom Paris."

They had come to a complete stop at the end of the shaded lane. Paris looked down at the top of her head, nestled against his chest and suddenly became acutely aware of how much he had missed her. Wrapping his arms around her, he nuzzled her hair, scented softly with gardenia, and wondered how he'd ever let her slip so far away.

"I'll miss you, Tom Paris," she said again.

Paris barely made out the words, muffled against his chest. Her shoulders shook slightly.

"Write to us once in a while," Sarrel said. "Write to _me_. I'll make sure your mom gets the message."

Paris stepped away, untangling himself from her arms because he no longer trusted his own heart. Holding her at arms length, he studied her face, damp with tears. "No promises," he said simply, "but I'll try."

Sarrel nodded, and he stepped away. She stood, hands jammed in pockets, looking every bit the tomboy he remembered, and more. Dappled sunshine played across her dark mahogany hair, splattering her face with golden light, catching in the moisture still on her cheeks. The air was heavy with memory and the fragrance of mid summer blossoms and Paris knew he would never see her again. Life just didn't treat him that way. And he wanted to remember her just as she stood. Turning away one last time, he walked into the brilliant sunshine, and locked the memory forever in his heart, where he could keep it close and safe.

END


End file.
